So sorry if the formatting for this chapter is a little off. I'm working on a few different computers, and they all don't like my google drive. Grrr. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Beware: there is sex. Also, in case you didn't tell, I don't own BBC Sherlock, nor the actors.
John steered Sherlock through the crowd and paused at the threshold to the community dungeon. There was a couple making use of the equipment, a tall blonde Domme and a petite submissive male. There was a small group of people scattered around the room, some lounging on couches and cushions while others were wrapped up in their partners along the walls. John always had loved community dungeons, there was something so unexplainably erotic about playing in public. A few of his past girlfriends had begged for a public scene, and John, being the man he is, willingly obliged them.
"Are you ok, Sherlock?" John asked, taking a moment to look his flatmate over. His eyes were dilated more than usual, and the detective was all but leaning against John. It seemed that their encounter with Charlie had shaken him. John didn't like seeing Sherlock so ruffled, especially because of someone else.
"I'll be fine, John. It's just… a lot to take in. I must admit, I was ill prepared for this evening," he replied, his eyes sweeping the room.
John nodded and steered them towards an empty loveseat in the back corner. Aside from allowing them a nice view of the ongoing scene, it also allowed Sherlock to see everyone in the room at once if he needed to. John settled in the loveseat and tossed a cushion on the floor.
"Why don't you sit on the floor for me, pet? Remember how you did the other night?" John asked.
"Can I sit cross-legged?" Sherlock asked. "It's easier on my knees."
"Of course, pet. Sit back against the couch though, I want to be able to touch you," John replied, sitting down. John spread his legs and gestured to the cushion on the floor, a clear sign for Sherlock to take a seat.
Sherlock stiffly sank to the floor and made sure his back was pressed back against the loveseat. John's hands soon were trailing over his shoulders and carding through his hair. Sherlock relaxed into the touch, grateful that John was doing this for him.
John leaned forward after a few moments, his breath puffing hotly against Sherlock's ear and neck. "I want you to look around the room and deduce everyone in your head. Can you do that for me, Sherlock?" he asked. "Store all that information in your Mind Palace for me?"
Sherlock swallowed thickly and nodded. "Yes, John. I can do that. The woman fucking that tied up man is a lawyer with two children. She- ah!" Sherlock's train of thought was derailed when John pulled his hair harshly, stretching his neck backwards.
"I said in your head, pet. You need to be quiet during the scene. If you continue talking, I'll be forced to fill that pretty mouth with something. And I'd rather not do that," John warned, his lips tickling against Sherlock's skin.
The detective shuddered as his eyes fluttered shut. He didn't dare speak, choosing instead to nod once John had released his hair.
No more words were exchanged between the two as the scene before them started to get louder. The domme was fucking her sub at a brutal pace, pulling noisy moans and mangled sentences from his throat.
"Quiet, slut. Or I'll find someone to shut you up," the woman growled, the hand not currently anchored on the man's hip gripping his hair and pulling back harshly.
Her boy tried to shut his mouth, the skin of his throat pulling taught. He pulled breaths harshly through his nose, and despite his attempts, he couldn't help but drop his jaw and moan obscenely when she hit his prostate at the perfect angle.
"My fucking slut loves cock, don't you?" she asked, slapping his ass with her free hand. "I bet you want a cock down your throat too, hmmm? That's why you can't fucking shut that whore mouth."
The man nodded furiously, his boring brown hair falling forward to shield half-lidded eyes blown black with lust.
The woman looked around at their spectators, slowing her tempo. "Well, he's open season, gents. Anyone who wants to fuck his mouth can," she said, raking her nails down her submissive's back. He moaned obscenely, tongue licking his lips in anticipation.
A tall, very well endowed man stepped forward, pulling his cock from his pants. He stroked the mushroom head a few times, peeling the foreskin back before presenting his length to the woman's sub. He eagerly licked at the stranger's cock, lapping up the glistening precum that had been smeared down the length.
The man didn't allow the poor submissive much time to adjust to having cock in his mouth. Quickly, he fisted his hands in the boy's hair and snapped his head forward, shoving all of his manhood down the willing throat.
John petted Sherlock's hair gently when the detective tensed. Leaning forward once more, John spoke to his flatmate. "Are you ok, or is this too much?"
"I'm fine, John," he replied, his voice breathy and high.
"No you're not. Come up here, pet," John said, pulling back on Sherlock's shoulder. The taller man quickly climbed up on the loveseat with the doctor and sat straight as a board. Looking over Sherlock, John was surprised to see his jeans slightly tented, his breath coming in ragged pants. Sherlock's eyes looked wild, whirling around the room as if they were unable to focus on any one thing for more than a few seconds. Pulling a breath through his teeth, John pulled the length of black rope from his belt loop.
"Give me your wrists, Sherlock," he ordered, voice soft but firm.
The taller man looked at him, his eyes wide, and presented his wrists.
As if dealing with a wounded animal, John carefully wound the rope around the cuffs, tying it in a simple knot in the middle. The black rope contrasted beautifully against Sherlock's pale skin and complemented the supple leather cuffs. The knot was loose enough that Sherlock could escape the bonds if he wanted, but tight enough to hopefully ground him. He looked like he truly belonged to John, and the doctor was surprised at how his cock twitched in interest at that thought.
When Sherlock met his gaze, John was relieved to notice that his flatmate's eyes seemed less manic than before. Sherlock smiled softly at him and leaned against his side, tucking his head on John's neck. John smiled to himself as he wrapped his right hand around the knot between Sherlock's wrist, stroking the skin of the detective's palms. "Relax, Sherlock. I've got you," he murmured just loud enough so that Sherlock could hear him.
Sherlock went boneless against John, his eyes glued on the submissive being spit-roasted. He wasn't sure which end he liked watching more, the swollen, red lips stretched wide around a rather impressive cock, or the plush, supple ass jiggling as the woman fucked him hard and fast. Taking a shaky breath, Sherlock licked his dry lips, all too aware of the way John was touching him.
"What's your favorite part?" John asked, his voice unusually rough.
Sherlock jumped. "I don't know," he replied, feeling a blush burn across his cheeks. It was bad enough to have an erection in public, but the fact that John knew he was aroused seemed to make him throb harder in his jeans. Sherlock wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.
"His ass is very nice. Bet it's plenty tight," John commented. Sherlock could hear the lust tainting the doctor's voice, and he squirmed.
"You like men?" Sherlock asked suddenly, turning to look at John's eyes.
"I like some men, yes," John replied, licking his own lips. "I take it you like men, too?"
Sherlock nodded minutely, ducking his head. "I hope that doesn't compromise things," he murmured.
John chuckled and pulled him in close. "Not at all. Now watch. He's getting ready to cum down that sub's throat. I bet he's going to swallow it all like a good boy. What do you think, Sherlock?"
Sherlock whimpered and stared as the well endowed man erupted down the sub's throat, moaning his appreciation as orgasm overtook him. Sure enough, Sherlock could see the sub swallowing around the length still down his throat, his eyes closed in bliss.
"Slut's got a good mouth. Thanks for sharing him," the man said, ruffling the sub's hair before returning to his seat to watch the rest of the show.
"Hear that?" the woman said, pulling out of the man. "He liked your mouth. What do you say, slut?"
"Thank you, Sir," the man replied hoarsely, licking his lips, no doubt still able to taste the dominant's cum.
The woman grinned and took off her strap-on, laying it down on a hand towel laid out behind them. "I want to see how eager that mouth is, boy," she said, pulling out a chair. She sat down on it and leaned back with her legs spread. "Come and eat my pussy, boy," she ordered.
"Yes, Mistress," he said. The boy grimaced, but kneeled before her, mouth immediately descending to service the woman.
"He's such a good boy. He'll eat me out all night if I ask him," she said, running her fingers through his hair. "Beg for it, slut. Beg to use your tongue on me."
Sherlock's breath was ragged against his neck, and John found himself counting the seconds between each inhale and exhale. He frowned when the breaths came more often. Gently, John hooked the fingers of his left hand through the chain of his dogtags and pulled back enough so that the metal would bite into Sherlock's overheated skin.
Sherlock tensed for a moment before slumping back against John's body, his eyes wide and jaw dropping open, pulling in a deep breath. "Breathe steady for me, Sherlock," John whispered.
Sherlock did as he was told, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head in their search for John's gaze. The two locked eyes as Sherlock steadied his breathing.
"That's it. Focus on me, pet. On my tags around your neck, my cuffs and rope around your wrists. I've got you," John said, tightening his grip on the dogtags.
Sherlock's eyes fluttered shut and he squirmed in John's lap, hips bucking up searching for friction in the air. He huffed and whimpered in desperation, pulling the attention of a few people close by, but neither man noticed.
"Can you open your eyes for me, Sherlock? I need you to catalogue every person in this room for your Mind Palace. Once you do that, and the scene is done, we'll tell Lestrade we're leaving and go back to Baker Street," John said, releasing his grip on the dogtags.
Sherlock gasped and snapped his eyes open, looking around the room at everyone, taking in all the information he could. He babbled, voice broken and low as he studied each and every person in the dungeon, naming careers and forming deductions based on how corsets were laced.
"Quietly, Sherlock. People are starting to stare," John chastised softly, yanking the dogtags against Sherlock's neck once more.
"I can't help it," he whispered, eyes snapping back to John's familiar blue.
"Then I will help," John said, dropping the tags. A protesting whine fell from Sherlock's lips, morphing into an obscene moan when John's steady hand wrapped around his neck, the pressure just enough to snap him back into action.
Sherlock's eyes were everywhere, and he was quiet. John squeezed rhythmically with the detective's breaths. He did his best to look around the room, but his gaze kept returning to the sub, now spread out on a table, his hard, tied up cock being teased.
"Beg for your orgasm, slut," his mistress ordered, stroking his length firmly.
All sorts of things spilled from the submissive's mouth. "Please let me cum, Mistress. I've been good for you, haven't I? I've earned it, haven't I?" he said.
"Not good enough," the woman said, pulling her hand away as she stepped back. "I don't think you really want it."
The cycle went on for a good few minutes, Sherlock growing hotter under his hand as the submissive's cock got redder and redder, the tip turning purple with blood. He moaned alongside the submissive when his mistress removed the bondage from his straining erection.
"You really want to cum, slut," the woman asked, resting her hand on the submissive's throat.
The submissive nodded.
John's eyes widened as he saw Sherlock nod alongside the submissive. "Whatever she says, you are not cumming here in public, Sherlock. Do you understand me?" he hissed.
Sherlock's eyes snapped up to his and John about lost it. "Please, John," Sherlock moaned.
"Don't you dare," John whispered, watching as the woman leaned in close and bit at her submissive's neck, leaving behind an angry red mark.
Sherlock whined and squirmed against John as the doctor's grip tightened around his neck.
"Watch him, Sherlock. But you are not going to cum until we are home," John ordered.
Sherlock watched as the submissive squirmed on the table, his erection jerking to his erratic heartbeat.
"Then cum, slut," the woman finally said, standing back from her submissive.
Sherlock's eyes widened as the man came instantly without a single touch to his cock, thick ropes of sticky white cum splattering all over his torso as a scream was ripped from his throat. His orgasm seemed to last forever, his back arching steeply off the table. He contorted into a few nearly impossible positions before sinking bonelessly back against the table, his breathing ragged and slow, eyes shut.
"Good boy," John murmured, releasing his throat. "Let's go say goodbye to Lestrade and go home, Sherlock."
Silently, Sherlock rose from the couch and allowed John to pull him through the club by the knot between his wrists. Had he been in his right mind, he would have scoffed at his appearance and righted himself before leaving the dungeon. but as he was, he followed as he was, erection still straining against his jeans, wrists bound before him, and a red handprint on his neck from where John had gripped him.
He didn't remember anything John said to Lestrade, but blushed hotly when the DI gave him a once over complete with a cocked eyebrow. He whined meekly in protest when John undid the rope from his wrists, but was silenced with one look from the doctor. He vaguely remembered Lestrade chuckling as he was guided out of Leather, but it didn't bother him. Nothing else bothered him until they were back in Baker Street, the door shut and locked firmly behind them.
As he heard the lock, Sherlock dropped to his knees. All at once, everything he deduced from the night spilled forth composed of broken sentences and ragged breaths. John let it go on for a full three minutes before he called Sherlock's name, only to be ignored.
Walking across the room, he fisted a hand in Sherlock's hair and pulled up, clenching his jaw when the detective's glazed eyes met his. "Come back to me, Sherlock. Focus for me," he said.
Sherlock swallowed and quieted, his lips peeking out between his lips to wet them. "John, please," he whispered. "Help me."
So John did. He pulled Sherlock onto the couch with him, wrapping a finger through the rings of both wrist cuffs, pulling the detective's hands back into his lap. Fingers stroked whatever soft skin they encountered, rubbing gentle circles as John carefully unbuckled the left cuff.
Sherlock whined at the loss, instantly missing the comfortable weight. He gasped when John raised his wrist to his mouth and placed a feather light kiss on his skin. The process was completed with the second wrist, John's fingers soothing his heated skin.
"Come for me, Sherlock. You've been such a good boy tonight," John growled, wrapping his hand around the detective's throat once more.
Sherlock came instantly, crying out John's name as wave after wave of pleasure washed over him. He sagged back against John, unknowingly murmuring his name over and over again, only pausing to press kisses into the doctor's neck.
John held him for a few minutes and allowed him to return to his senses. "Go shower and get ready for bed, Sherlock. I'll come tuck you in in twenty minutes, ok?" he said, stroking over the skin of Sherlock's neck.
Sherlock nodded and quickly disappeared into his own bathroom, the hiss of the shower audible in the living room.
John ran a hand through his hair and made his way to the kitchen, filling the kettle with clean water. While he waited for it to boil, he tried to get visions of his flatmate out of his head. All he could see was Sherlock. Sherlock on his knees, lips wrapped around his hard cock as he fucked his flatmate's throat, Sherlock bent over their kitchen table as John turned his ass red, Sherlock moaning his name as he slammed in and out of his arse, the deliciously plump globes of flesh rippling as his hips slapped against them, Sherlock cumming hard for him, spilling his seed into the sheets of their bed as John came deep inside him… Each vision was as tantalizing as the last, and John found it difficult to shut it all away and focus on making tea, but he managed.
He took his time sipping the chamomile blend, carefully sorting through his thoughts. He heard the shower shut off halfway through his cuppa. He watched the clock, giving Sherlock five minutes as he finished his tea. when the five minutes were up, he walked down the hallway to Sherlock's room, knocking on the door, waiting for permission to enter.
"Come in," Sherlock said, his voice quiet.
John walked in and smiled. Sherlock was nestled in under the covers, John's extra blanket draped over his shoulders. His eyes were closed, and his face looked peaceful if the tiny smile on his lips were anything to go by. Carefully, John sat on the side of his flatmate's bed and rested a hand on his shoulder.
"Good night, Sherlock. You did so well tonight," he murmured, raising his hand to card through slightly damp curls.
Sherlock's eyes blinked open, warm and grey. "Will you stay with me, John?" he asked, nuzzling into his hand.
John's breath caught in his chest at the vision. If someone had told him two weeks ago that Sherlock was an affectionate cuddler in bed, he would have laughed and sent them to an optometrist for a check up. But now, he couldn't imagine the other man as anything but.
"I want to, but I think it's best if I go for tonight," John replied, tracing across one of Sherlock's impossible cheekbones.
Sherlock pouted and turned his head to place a kiss on the pad of John's thumb. "But I want you to stay. Please?" he asked.
John bit his lip. "Not tonight, pet. Now off to sleep. We'll talk tomorrow," he replied, making sure Sherlock's body was covered in blankets. It was supposed to be a cool night, and he didn't need his flatmate to catch cold. He stayed perched on the side of Sherlock's bed, rubbing gentle circles on his hand until he was sure the detective was asleep.
"Sleep well, and sweet dreams, Sherlock," he murmured, bending to press a kiss to Sherlock's curls. After one more blanket check, John tip-toed to his own room and crawled into bed. He would later deny turning one of his spare pillows vertically, burying his face in it, and sleeping with his arm slung across it, but as John drifted off to sleep, he couldn't help but think how much warmer his bed would be with Sherlock in it.